


Obedience

by surreysmum



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 05:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surreysmum/pseuds/surreysmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the point of view of an original character - what goes on in Aragorn's bedchamber once the court is asleep?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obedience

Title: Obedience  
Author: surreysmum  
Rating: R or NC-17  
Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn/OMC  
A/N: "Philosigan" is a rough coinage from two Greek words, intending (who knows how successfully) to convey the meaning "lover of silence"

 

All of us here at Minas Tirith adore the Prince Legolas, and have done ever since he left his home amidst the Ithilien Elven Colony to come and live with my Lord the King as his Consort. And, may the Valar bless His Majesty, we were all exceedingly pleased to see the poor Man take some pleasure in life at last, for he had been much grieved, first by the untimely passing of the Queen, and then by his own desperate self-reproach for having allowed her to take on mortality for his sake. It was a causeless self-reproach in my opinion, but very typical of the Man, and I would not presume to criticize him for it. Nonetheless, when Prince Legolas arrived, it was like the opening of the windows of the Great Hall to let in the sunlight once more.

My name is Philosigan, and I am chief amongst the domestics in the castle at Minas Tirith. Oh, my Lord Faramir is Steward, of course, but he is a Prince in his own right, and has his own palace, so I am the one who deals with the thousand and one daily details of keeping this court and household going. In addition, I am personal valet to His Majesty and the only one - other than Prince Legolas, of course! - permitted access to his chambers at any time. It is a position I would not exchange for any other on this earth. I have served King Elessar in one capacity or another for well more than half a century, and I hope to continue doing so until I meet my end.

Some might wonder why a crusty old fellow like myself is entrusted with such responsibilities, when His Majesty could have his pick of far more dapper and polished major-domos than I. I do not presume to speak for my Lord, of course, but I suspect it has much to do with the fact that I value discretion above all other virtues. I cannot abide careless chatter amongst the servants about their betters, and I discourage it amongst my staff as best I can. Over the years, I have had many an occasion to prove my trustworthiness to His Majesty, whether it was those moments when Queen Arwen (may the Valar bless her memory) forgot my presence and emerged from the bathing-room unclothed, or those exceedingly rare instances when they fell into marital dispute as I silently tidied the room. And my services to His Majesty go even farther back than that, for he sometimes sought me out during our soldiering days to unburden his mind, though I was a mere foot-soldier under his captaincy, and once or twice, when he roamed the camp desolately yearning for his absent Elven lovers, I was given the great honour of offering him the solace of my own body. You must remember that I was much younger and somewhat fairer then. (But that is another story entirely). In any case, I have never spoken to anyone of any of this.

Lately, since Prince Legolas arrived, there has been much more about which to be discreet; I have heard, even through the thick walls separating my chambers from those of my liege, many sounds of chastisement and anguish followed by masculine passion. I do not intervene, of course. One does not live to my advanced age without having seen many things, and knowing what is what. I simply ensure that there is ample supply of salve, and well-filled water jugs, and warm tea and sugary confections for the restoration of the body. Nor do I think it is always the same body that needs restoration - but of that I will speak no more.

Prince Legolas, as I said, is adored by everyone in this household. His physical comeliness alone would be enough: that fair skin, the ageless, delicate features, the silken hair that tempts the fingertips to commit impertinence, the slender, agile limbs - indeed, most of the womenfolk and half the menfolk sigh after him. And if even this old greybeard occasionally finds himself most uncomfortably bestirred, you can well imagine how the Prince sets the young maidservants a-twitter. Truly, they lose half their sense (and often there is little enough there to begin with!) in his presence, and I am much too frequently called upon to settle disputes about who will have the honour to bring him his miruvor at table or place a sweetmeat upon his pillow in the chamber he so rarely uses. The King is well aware of this, of course, and he smiles indulgently; indeed, I swear he sometimes envies the lasses, wishing he could fawn over Legolas so openly in public. The adoration in his eyes when he looks at the Prince would make your heart swell and your eyes water with joy for him.

If Prince Legolas has a failing, and it is little enough in my eyes, he can be somewhat aloof and detached, occasionally even abrupt with the mortals around him, particularly the servants. To me, this is no great matter, and very understandable. Not only does he have the distant calm of his long-lived and philosophical people, but he is Royalty, and, unlike my own dear monarch, was raised as a prince. It is to be expected that sometimes he will not bother with courteous niceties to those beneath him, although he never raises his voice or uses vulgar language. Still, some of our younger ones are so smitten with him that a careless word from him can seem most shockingly harsh, and my shoulder has soaked up many a tear from a lovelorn page or maidservant. It is never more than a passing hurt, for a dazzling smile and a courteous word from him the next hour can restore their equanimity as easily as it was lost. This very morning, our newest chambermaid, with only fourteen years to her name, was reduced to sobs when the Prince pointed out to her that she had left a careless trail of ashes in front of the fireplace. Unfortunately, the silly wench allowed herself to be caught weeping by the King himself, or so she told me.

This was one of the hundreds of little household incidents I was mulling over late this evening when I received an unexpected summons to attend His Majesty in his chambers. Rarely does he require my services after sundown, and even more rarely does he call for me in the hour after midnight when he and his Prince are most wont to disport themselves in my liege's bed.

I knocked and received His Majesty's permission to enter. The sight that met my eyes would steal the breath from any man. Kneeling upon the floor, his curtain of golden hair his only clothing, was Prince Legolas. His head was humbly bowed and his hands were clasped, as if bound, behind his back.

"Your Majesty?" I asked, very much taken aback.

"Philosigan," my Lord replied warmly. He stood at his ease near the Prince, and was (somewhat to my relief) fully clothed. There was a light in his eyes, and a slight quickness to his breath, that reminded me of how he looked before we used to go into battle. "Look well upon this proud Elf before you."

To my eyes, the Prince looked anything but proud kneeling there, face veiled in his hair. The King reached over, and with a gesture that managed to seem both commanding and affectionate, swept the hair from the Elf's face. "Do not look down," Elessar ordered Legolas. The Elf's gaze met mine, and colour flooded his face at the shame of his exposure to me. I looked again to the King, anxious for explanation, but he merely smiled. "Stand up, Elf, and show yourself to my trusted servant. Show how you are being punished for your arrogance."

With great grace and obvious reluctance, Legolas stood, and my eyes were drawn irresistibly to the fascinating sight of his aroused member, bound most implacably by a cruel, thin cord. I could not help myself. I stared, and stared again as he turned slowly and displayed to me perfect round buttocks painted a uniform shade of red by a master artist. Where the two cheeks met, still quivering very slightly, I could see, from their recent trial, they embraced the large handle of some dread instrument which must surely be invading him both wide and deep. I trembled in sympathy and lust. I had never seen a more beautiful sight in my life.

As he turned slowly to face me once more, his fabled Elven calm obviously maintained only with the greatest effort, he made himself bow very slightly to me and then turned anguished eyes to his King. But there were no words of praise forthcoming yet. "Kneel before Philosigan," ordered Elessar.

I drew a breath to protest; it was not seemly for one so high-born to humble himself to me thus. But now the King deigned to explain. "It seems this Elf has been causing distress amongst my staff, my friend," he told me. "It is my wish that, as their head and their representative, you carry out part of his punishment on my behalf. This you will do in two ways." He addressed Legolas again. "Raise your head and show no cowardice." I saw a flash of indignation in the Elf's eyes, and it was well-justified, for everyone in this room knew that the Prince had never had a cowardly moment in his life.

"Now smite him across the face," the King ordered me. I hesitated for a moment only. I did not wish to smite this glorious being, but still less did I wish to prolong his shame. Nor did I insult him with a feeble blow, but gave him all the still considerable power of the back of my hand across his face. At his unavoidable wince, I winced also, and I was relieved when the King's quick inspection silently confirmed that I had aimed well and done no real damage.

"Thus is satisfaction obtained for your arrogance," the King told him. "Now for the rest - your careless flirting and flaunting of your charms, to the disturbance of everyone's peace of mind." He pulled Legolas roughly to his feet and positioned him with his back to the tall bedpost, the Elf obediently clasping his hands behind it.

"Philosigan, my old friend," said the King, approaching me. "I do not wish to force upon you anything that disgusts you." His eyes were scanning my face carefully to see whether I would fall in with his plans. I did not doubt that he would halt his proceedings and let me go without prejudice if I refused; I know the Man well enough for that. "This proud Elf blames others for failing to control their own passions. He must learn that he too can be made to lose control." As he spoke, he drew me closer to Legolas. "And not only at the hands of his beloved," he added quietly, in a tone not meant for my ears, and I turned my head away. But Elessar - Aragorn, as I once knew him - laid a firm hand upon my arm and drew my attention back to the Elf, to the empurpled organ the King now cradled in his fingers. "I wish you to unwind the cord and bring this Elf to his pinnacle with your strong, hard hands, whether he consents or no."

"Oh Elbereth," whispered Legolas. They were the first words he had spoken. Aragorn brought his face close to his consort's and they communed in silence for a second. Though I knew I should look away again, I could not, and I saw the soft kiss Aragorn placed on Legolas' lips before he turned back to me.

"Does this disgust you, Philosigan?" he asked seriously.

"Nay, my Lord," I answered, trying to steady my voice. "It does not disgust me." I turned immediately to my task, and though I wished to be both quick and gentle as I removed the endless loops of the cord, I fear my shaking hands prolonged the process. I could feel Legolas twitching slightly in discomfort as the flow of his blood was restored, and I could not forbear soothing him, gentling him now and then with a soft touch over his belly or his side as I would with a horse or a hound. Then I took his shaft tentatively into my palm. "Just a little roughly," Aragorn advised in my ear. "He is close. It will not take long."

Excited as he was by the evening's long attentions from his King, Legolas took next to no time at all, but shattered to pieces in my hands, sobbing and panting, his pure white essence spilling across my fingers. I took my hands off him, more reluctantly that I would wish to admit, and before I could wipe my hands, Aragorn took one of them - the one that had struck his Elf - and held it to Legolas' lips. Legolas opened his eyes and deliberately held my gaze as he kissed it. I felt mesmerized. "Thank you," he said softly. "You are a gentleman, Philosigan."

I have no idea what being a gentleman has to do with it. I most certainly am not one; I am an old soldier-turned-domestic. Still enthralled in his gaze, I opened my mouth and said something stupid: "You are very beautiful, Prince Legolas." He smiled at me.

"Creating havoc with your charms once more, Elf?" There was no edge in King Elessar's voice, but it startled me out of my trance. "Do not tell me I must punish you all over again!"

The King walked me to the door of the bedchamber. "On your honour, and as my most trusted subject, I charge you to walk through this door without looking back, and never to speak of this to any living soul," he said. I gave him my promise, needless though it was.

I may be getting older, but I am not deaf. As I walked through that door, I heard the passion in the King's voice, murmuring, "You bore that very well, my love." And I would have given my eyeteeth to turn around and see them together. But I did not.

Elessar is my liege lord, and I give him my obedience.

 _finis_  
[My ficlist is here](http://surreysmum.dreamwidth.org/48133.html).  


 

  
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